


My Legend

by Grand_Phoenix



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst, Bad Ending, Canon Universe, cailan would've made an interesting character had he lived, sometimes the dream comes to an end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-04
Updated: 2017-11-04
Packaged: 2019-01-29 05:13:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12624042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grand_Phoenix/pseuds/Grand_Phoenix
Summary: It was just beginning...! [King Cailan and the Battle of Ostagar]





	My Legend

**Author's Note:**

> This was written around 2013, during a time when I had first started playing Dragon Age: Origins off my Amazon account, and it was during this period I was getting heavily into World of Warcraft: Mists of Pandaria, off the heels of a content drought Cataclysm left behind. Although the blasted Fade and the dwarven politics of Orzammar were the bigger highlights of my two playthroughs, Cailan's death at the beginning of the game left its own particular brand on me, especially upon doing the Return to Ostagar DLC with unhardened!Alistair in tow. As much I would've liked to have forced Loghain into joining the Grey Wardens as punishment, I much prefer having Alistair stay in the party (that, and in both playthroughs, I personally slew Loghain after the duel in the Landsmeet).
> 
> The title comes from the final words Commander Durand of the revamped Scarlet Monastery dungeon speaks when he dies: "But...my legend!" and somehow, in between Drahga Shadowburner of Grim Batol screeching "BY FIRE BE...BURNED!", Ley-Guardian Eregos of The Occulus screaming that "Such insolence...such arrogance...must be PUNISHED!", and Murozond's opening speech at the end (kek) of the End Time, this one stuck.

It's not supposed to end like this. Staring into those soulless eyes, stomach twisting to knots at the smell of the ogre's hot, rank breath, snared in its massive grip high above the ground. Man and mabari and darkspawn swarm around them like a foul black river, slicing, slashing, biting, breaking bones and spilling blood. The air reeks of ozone left behind by the mages' spells.

He claws frantically at that massive hand, presses against its forefinger hoping it will give. It has to—his sword is lost among the fray, his shield digging a pointed spike into the small of his back, and his kicking legs barely graze the brute's arm. He has to do something, he has to help his soldiers and hold the horde long enough for the signal to be lighted and Loghain and his troop to come charging down the valley right into the heat of the battle.

The ogre draws him in close, nostrils snuffling and flaring. It bares its teeth and a low, guttural growl rumbles in the chasm of its throat. His heart stops cold and leaps into his mouth.

_I'd hoped for a war like this in the tales! A king riding with the fabled Grey Wardens against a tainted god!_

An ear-shattering roar splits the night and drowns all sound. It rattles his bones and fills his hollow body with dread. Saliva flies from the ogre's maw and splashes his face.

_I cannot wait for that glorious moment! The Grey Wardens battle beside the king of Ferelden to stem the tide of evil!_

He shakes his head. It can't end like this. He's supposed to be the hero, the king who ends the Blight in its infancy before it begins. He still has to sire an heir to carry on the Theirin name and pass down stories of honor and triumph to inspire. He can't die yet.

_But…my legend!_

Any other thoughts are quashed, literally, as the ogre squeezes hard and fast. Blood explodes from his pores and bones snap like dry kindling, and darkness falls on King Cailan with the finality of a stage curtain indicating the end of a play.


End file.
